Asking For A Friend
Lauren Blakely
Contents
Copyright
Also By Lauren Blakely
About
Asking For a Friend
Dear Reader:
Her Prologue
His Prologue
1. Amy
2. Amy
3. Linc
4. Amy
5. Amy
6. Linc
7. Amy
8. Linc
9. Amy
10. Linc
11. Amy
12. Linc
13. Amy
14. Linc
15. Amy
16. Amy
17. Amy
18. Linc
19. Amy
20. Amy
21. Linc
22. Amy
23. Linc
24. Amy
25. Linc
26. Amy
27. Amy
28. Amy
Epilogue
Another Epilogue
And Another Epilogue
One More Epilogue
Acknowledgments
Also by Lauren Blakely
Contact
Copyright
Copyright © 2019 by Lauren Blakely
Cover Design by Helen Williams. 1st Edition, 2019
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book. This contemporary romance is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners. This book is licensed for your personal use only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with, especially if you enjoy sexy romance novels with alpha males. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author’s work.
Also By Lauren Blakely
Big Rock Series
Big Rock
Mister O
Well Hung
Full Package
Joy Ride
Hard Wood
The Engagement Gift
The Virgin Gift
The Decadent Gift (coming soon)
The Heartbreakers Series
Once Upon a Real Good Time
Once Upon a Sure Thing
Once Upon a Wild Fling
Boyfriend Material
Asking For a Friend
Sex and Other Shiny Objects
One Night Stand-In
Lucky In Love Series
Best Laid Plans
The Feel Good Factor
Nobody Does It Better
Unzipped
Always Satisfied Series
Satisfaction Guaranteed
Instant Gratification
Overnight Service
Never Have I Ever
Special Delivery
The Sexy Suit Series
Lucky Suit
Birthday Suit
From Paris With Love
Wanderlust
Part-Time Lover
One Love Series
The Sexy One
The Only One
The Hot One
The Knocked Up Plan
Come As You Are
Sports Romance
Most Valuable Playboy
Most Likely to Score
Standalones
Stud Finder
The V Card
The Real Deal
Unbreak My Heart
The Break-Up Album
21 Stolen Kisses
Out of Bounds
The Dating Proposal
The Caught Up in Love Series
Caught Up In Us
Pretending He’s Mine
Playing With Her Heart
Stars In Their Eyes Duet
My Charming Rival
My Sexy Rival
The No Regrets Series
The Thrill of It
The Start of Us
Every Second With You
The Seductive Nights Series
First Night (Julia and Clay, prequel novella)
Night After Night (Julia and Clay, book one)
After This Night (Julia and Clay, book two)
One More Night (Julia and Clay, book three)
A Wildly Seductive Night (Julia and Clay novella, book 3.5)
The Joy Delivered Duet
Nights With Him (A standalone novel about Michelle and Jack)
Forbidden Nights (A standalone novel about Nate and Casey)
The Sinful Nights Series
Sweet Sinful Nights
Sinful Desire
Sinful Longing
Sinful Love
The Fighting Fire Series
Burn For Me (Smith and Jamie)
Melt for Him (Megan and Becker)
Consumed By You (Travis and Cara)
The Jewel Series
A two-book sexy contemporary romance series
The Sapphire Affair
The Sapphire Heist
About
I was only trying to help a friend. I swear. I was legit asking for a friend who was finally ready to date again.
I knew what she wanted in a man -- smart, funny, ambitious, well-read (no, the sports section doesn't count), and plays a wicked game of badminton.
So I did what any good friend would do. Posted it for her. It seemed like a good idea at the time -- I'd weed through the candidates, and bring her my top picks.
But then he responded.
Is it wrong to date the guy I screened for my bestie? Not asking for a friend.
This book is dedicated to Kathleen. Thank you.
Asking For a Friend
By Lauren Blakely
Want to be the first to learn of sales, new releases, preorders and special freebies? Sign up for my VIP mailing list here!
Dear Reader:
In this story, the characters reference a number of books. Some are fictional and some are real. The following books cited in this novel are actual books: Gone with the Wind; Harry Potter; Pride and Prejudice; Like Water for Chocolate; L.A. Confidential; Casino Royale; And Then There Were None; Little Women; Where’d You Go, Bernadette; The Princess Bride; Fight Club; Lord of the Rings; The Far Side; and Looking for Alaska. The rest of the books mentioned are fictional, created for the characters in the novel. The TV show Spying on My Neighbor and the characters in it are fictional.
Her Prologue
Amy
A thesaurus is a girl’s most satisfying lover.
I’ve been devoted to the delights of mine since I was eight, and it remains my loyal, pleasure-giving companion twenty years later.
My love for it is omnivorous. I devour synonyms from Roget’s online, and the urban version too.
Growing up, I used to sleep with a well-worn purple thesaurus beside my pillow. Every word I’d looked up was underlined—a smorgasbord of “mint julep,” thanks to Gone with the Wind; “elixir,
” courtesy of Harry Potter; and “rapture,” hailing from Pride and Prejudice.
But I didn’t really grasp the potential until I read a Jackie Collins-esque potboiler in which a rich guy dies of a rigor mortis–inducing heart attack while screwing his mistress. Who knew there were so many alternative names for body parts?
Knob, rod, pump, package, slinger.
I did, that’s who. And I didn’t stop there.
Joystick, purple crayon, drive machine.
They sounded deceptively playful, and by middle school, I could recount things I’d read in the dirtiest books and make them sound like they were penned by choir girls.
Later, I learned how the crafty use of words could vault me to the top of English courses, winning me essay contests and opening college doors.
The thesaurus still comes in handy. Armed with one in your holster, you can win any shoot-out. You can go from telling your boss that the new assignment she just gave you isn’t simply a “piece of cake”—it’s a “slam dunk,” a “picnic in the park,” or, wait for it, a “doddle.”
Or you can tell that to yourself when you take on a new project, like, say, writing a list of requirements for a dating profile.
I tackle it with the thesaurus by my side.
What’s another way to say “smart”?
Can sustain a conversation consisting of words other than “awesome,” “cool,” and “dude.”
What’s another way to say “polite”?
Good manners will get you everywhere. (Including in my pants. But I don’t say that. Not yet, at least. That’s for the third date, obviously.)
How about “must like books”?
Please be well-read. Buzzfeed and the sports section don’t count.
Except with great power comes great responsibility.
Because when the responses flood in, I realize I’ve opened a Pandora’s box of problems.
His Prologue
Linc
It seemed like a good idea at the time.
Scratch that. It seemed like a fantastic idea.
Because there’s this girl I can’t resist, but giving in to the temptation of her and all her charms—from her delight in words to her obsession with pockets to her flirty-bordering-on-just-a-little-dirty mouth—could be disastrous.
I could keep stepping on the brake with all my flagging willpower, or I could nudge the steering wheel and turn my energy elsewhere . . .
Yes. I’ll do that.
That’s a brilliant plan.
I’ll find a date online, someone who’s equally fantastic and feisty, who’s just as bright and bold, so I’m not tempted by that firecracker.
But you know what they say about resisting temptation.
1
Amy
Two weeks ago
Every workday around three in the afternoon, I sponsor a debate with myself: shut the door and sneak in a snooze, or pop in a piece of cinnamon gum and power through the late-in-the-day doldrums?
Today is no different, and I blame the manuscript I’ve been reading for the last few hours. It’s the story of a plucky thirtysomething woman with a pixie haircut—because, of course, plucky heroines have pixie haircuts—who gives relationship advice to couples based on the candy they buy at her sweet shop.
But—hold the press—love knocks her on her ass one day when a handsome stranger strolls in and buys all the purple Skittles.
Because purple is her favorite color.
My boss pinned the tail of this manuscript donkey on me earlier this week, tossing it onto my reading pile with a droll “Supposedly, it’s Like Water for Chocolate meets Waitress meets Roald Dahl with a side of M&Ms tossed in.”
To which I wanted to say, No one needs that. Literally no one.
But I can’t say that because I’m merely a junior editor and she’s a vice president, and I’ll have to read enough of it to report back. Also, because the agent who sent it to our publishing house sold us a blockbuster roman-à-clef from a shoe magnate a decade or two ago. Therefore, we must read everything she sends our way in case it’s the next big thing.
This isn’t the next big thing.
It isn’t the next anything.
Le sigh.
Also, le nap. The debate tips in favor of snag-some-shut-eye as a siesta brews in my eyeballs. My lids flutter like feathers at a Victoria’s Secret photoshoot. I’m going down for the count as the heroine dishes out banalities over nonpareils.
Until I hear five words.
“Did you hear the news?”
My five favorite words.
Well, after “lunch is on me today” and “cake’s in the break room.”
I snap my gaze up from the document, blinking at the stunning creature in my doorway.
Looking impossibly tall and commandingly gorgeous with carved cheekbones and corkscrew black curls, Lola strikes a pose. Hell, Lola is a freaking pose.
“News? I love news. Tell me news,” I say, stifling a yawn.
She points to my face like she’s found evidence of a high crime. “Were you asleep, Amy?”
“What? No!” I scoff for good measure as I adjust my glasses, hoping they aren’t lopsided.
She cocks her head and lifts a brow. Lola possesses the most wicked eyebrow arches. It’s not fair for her to be leggy and too cool for school, all while pulling off more facial expressions than Julia Louis-Dreyfus. “Then why is there a crease in your forehead?”
I grab my phone, turn it to selfie mode, and curse, rubbing my fingertips over the line in my forehead—evidence indeed. “Dammit.”
She laughs. “You’re so busted.”
I flap my hand at the offending document on my cluttered computer screen. But the file is no longer visible, since my computer is cycling through photos of my dog, Inspector Poirot. It’s on screen saver mode—more proof of my midafternoon inactivity. “You try staying awake while reading what ought to be in the slush pile. At the very bottom.”
She shoots me a sympathetic smile. “How is it you’re still weeding through those type of manuscripts?”
“It’s from Ella Yarn.”
“Whose last big hit was turned into a movie starring Neve Campbell. Neve Campbell is sooo yesterday, and so is Ella Yarn.” Lola stabs a perfect, unpolished nail on my desk. “You’re better than this.”
“Tell that to Rainey McGuire. She only gives me her slush, Antonia gets the good books, and agents aren’t sending me their cream yet. Did you see the sign on my door? It says Amy Summers—middling junior editor.”
“We need to change that, stat.”
“I know. Trust me.” I wave away the subject, because my work woes make me want to stab myself in the eyeballs. In the pitch meeting last week, I didn’t even have books to present. Meanwhile, Antonia, who jumped from boss lady’s assistant to assistant editor last year, pitched two. And we bought them.
“Anyway, tell me your news. I hope it’s more exciting than romance predictions based on Skittles. Not even Baldwin would dig this book, and you know he’s a sucker for candy references.”
She blinks as if to ask how can you possibly be reading that drivel, then segues to her reason for the visit. “This news should make you incandescently happy.”
I sigh contentedly. “Divulge everything. Hold nothing back.”
She glances behind her, then side to side, then cups her hand to her mouth. “Mike Beanman is leaving.”
My eyes pop. “Leaving for the day?”
“No, he’s leaving for Europe. Next week. He’s opening the London office of Bailey & Brooks Publishing. And that means—”
“There’s going to be an opening for an editor?” I’m not a religious person. I’m a just-in-case-er, so just in case it will help, I offer a string of silent prayers to any deities who might be listening—especially the goddess of good fortune, because I do want to believe in her. “There is, right? That’s what you’re saying? There hasn’t been an opening in years.”
“So the rumor goes,” Lola says, sliding a
dozen or so silver bracelets higher up her wrist as she steps inside my office, shuts the door, and folds her long self into a chair.
“I love rumors,” I say, tightening my messy bun. “I love them more than ballet flats and Betty Boop and DoorDash and wearing jammies all day long on Sundays. Even more than the woman who invented vanilla lattes.”
One corner of Lola’s lips curls skeptically. “I don’t think espresso was invented by a woman.”
I hold up a hear me out finger. “But in my revisionist history, coffee was created by a woman. A learned woman, who rescued kittens and puppies and kept a reverse harem of men to pleasure her, all of whom looked like Thor.”
Lola leans her head back and laughs. “Some days I wonder what it’s like to be stuck inside your brain. My bet is it’s like a secret room you’d find behind a secret door in an eccentric person’s mansion.”